Go Where Your Heart Leads You
by Abarero
Summary: "There comes a time, when even if you don't want to admit something aloud, you must admit it to yourself. Because if you keep denying what is right in front of your eyes for too long, then you become blind." 1940-America realizes his feelings for England


Author's Note: This was written for a friend as part of a charity auction for Brazil. I hope you all enjoy, and please leave a comment if you do!

This is an America POV set in 1940, as the Battle of Britain is happening overseas.

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**Go Where Your Heart Leads You**

(America 1940)

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Lately, I feel as if only my boss truly understands the way I feel. Perhaps even better than I do.

From the moment I heard about the airborne attacks on Britain, well…I've not been myself. Like my boss though, I tried to hide my problems and carry on. Shove it behind a smile and keep on, you know? Can't have the people worrying about us, not with everything else going on in the world.

But much like I can see through my boss's brave façade and know his illness is worse than he'd like people to know, he's always assuring me he's trying to convince the government to send more help overseas, and I know he's seen through me as well.

Because this worry, this concern…it isn't the same as anything I've ever felt before.

There was that horrible feeling of dividedness and my body fighting against itself during the Civil War. And even the years after the stock market crash when I knew my energy wasn't what it used to be.

But this…this worry was different. Because it was about _him_.

So when I heard my brother up north was sending pilots over to help, I unthinkingly told him I'd come too. I told Canada it's because I'm a hero, because heroes are supposed to help and I can't stand sitting by any longer.

Now I'm wondering if he saw through me as well, because he simply shook his head and told me it was okay.

My boss, on the other hand, was a little more blatant about it.

He was seated in a wheelchair, something I knew he rarely let anyone see, and he just looked at me with a smile and told me, "America, these are dire times and if you want to go to England, then please do. At least then, one of us can be doing something to help our friends in Britain."

I tried to use the same story I'd given Canada, but he just chuckled and held my gaze.

"You can't stand sitting by because someone you deeply care about is in mortal peril; a dilemma of the heart, if you will."

My face heated up at that and I tried to argue it, but the more I thought about England- about how even as a country he really was in mortal peril, the more my heart clenched up painfully.

Finally, my boss gestured me down to his level and he put his hand on my shoulder. "There comes a time, America, when even if you don't want to admit something aloud, you must admit it to yourself. Because if you keep denying what is right in front of your eyes for too long, then you become blind."

I nodded mutely at the time, but came to understand his meaning much later.

On the plane flight over the Atlantic, I had a lot of time to myself to think. To think about England and what he meant to me.

And the weird thing was, I don't think I ever stopped caring about him. Even when I was furious at him for not listening, even when I fought with him, even when he refused to help me during my Civil War- I still, on some level, cared about him.

Since then, things had been a bit awkward. Even Lithuania noticed it when he was staying with me, always trying to nudge me to talk to England more.

So I cared about him, wanted on some level to reconcile with him, but…that didn't quite explain this crushing weight in my chest every time I thought about how he could be severely injured right at this moment.

It made me want to fly there even faster, heroically sweep him up in my arms and…and…

They say there are different types of love. That for a brother, like I had for Canada despite our differences at times. That for a friend, like I had for Lithuania and how I worried about him after he was taken back by Russia.

Then there was this.

I hollowly chuckled to myself in the confines of my cockpit, wetness stinging at the corners of my eyes, as I murmured to myself.

"I love him."

This worry, this tightness in my heart, this…everything that had ever happened between us- that's what it came down to. I remember when I was much younger being told by people that I was crushing on him, and well…that crush had never died. Instead it had grown, hidden away in my heart all this time, until now.

Now when I was faced with the terrifying thought that I could lose England forever, it had blossomed, unable to be held back anymore.

And, maybe that was okay. I mean, in all the movies and musicals, the hero always fought to save the one he loved so…perhaps I was no different in that aspect. I wanted England to be safe, and I wanted him to not feel like he was in this fight alone. So even if he thought I was just some dumb kid, I'd do this for him. Because that was the heroic thing to do, because I loved the grumpy guy for who knows what reason.

As the shorelines of Great Britain came up on the horizon, Canada contacted me over the radio of the plane.

"America, you know, once he sees you, there's no taking it back."

I picked up my radio and replied, my voice clear despite the nervousness I was feeling.

"I know. But, well… my heart is telling me it's the right thing to do. So, here goes nothing."

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Notes:  
[1] America's boss at this time was Franklin Delano Roosevelt (also known by his initials, FDR), who due to illness was paralyzed from the waist down from 1921 onward. At the time, Roosevelt was able to convince many people that he was getting better, which he believed was essential if he was to run for public office again. Fitting his hips and legs with iron braces, he laboriously taught himself to walk a short distance by swiveling his torso while supporting himself with a cane. In private, he used a wheelchair, but he was careful never to be seen in it in public.


End file.
